The end- An experimental short story

When I looked into your eyes that final time, I could see there was no more. No more sparkle, no more passion, no more love; only a dull and icy ocean of blue that stared back coldly. That piercing glare only intensified the harsh winds that whipped around us as we braved the snow storm in my backyard, as we had done for an hour now, without saying a word. The gale whipped at our hair, tugging and slapping it against our foreheads, leaving raw and red stinging scars across our faces. The biting cold had sucked our fingers and toes dry of the healthy red glow it used to possess; when we were warm, when we were happy. Grey, shrivelled, freezing, our hands remained stagnant by our sides. Was it the cold, or was it just that we didn’t care anymore? I wanted to place my hand across your face to shield your dulling and gentle cheeks. I wanted to hold you to myself so that you could cannibalize my warmth so you wouldn’t shiver helplessly like that. I wanted to gaze deep into those once lively and loving eyes and say I loved you. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, but neither could you. The storm raged on as our 2 figures stood unwavering in the snowy barrage, eyes wavering from the ground, sneaking nervous glimpses of each others mute but pained faces. “It’s over” we both said in unison, both in a trembly, yet forceful voice. Was it the blistering cold or did we still care? With this, the wind had hushed and the whipping stopped. A rising and warming sun, blocked by the aging white wooden fence that cut us off from the outside world, crept across the jagged top and illuminated our faces, making us wince and recoil slightly. I thought I saw a tear run down your face, but it was probably just a shard of snow that had by chance fallen on your cheek and melted. I pretended not to notice and I looked away. The chatter of people emerging from their houses heralded the harsh sounds of shovelling and the predictable gasps of how fortunate they were nothing was damaged. They all began to clean up, and soon after, there would be no evidence of a storm at all, all apart from the stray and pestilent flecks of ice that continued to drizzle across this sleepy town, but its always done that, and always will. Knowing this, we returned to sit on the wooden planked patio, turning our parka clad backs to each other when we got there. Our mouths were stained with a plaque of bitterness that slowly crawled to the back of our throats as we stared deep into the misty horizon. For all the times we were happy, for all the times we were sad, for all the times when we got on, for all the times we fought, the times when we gave, the times when we received, the times when we were disappointed, the times when we understood, for all it was worth, together, we wept. We cried as the flakes of snow kept falling, slowly filling the craters we created as we stood in the storm together, making it seem like they were never there.